


Surrexit

by VenatorNoctis



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon Divergence, Dawn - Freeform, Gen, Resurrection, Reunions, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 20:04:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14172411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenatorNoctis/pseuds/VenatorNoctis
Summary: Violence and rejection are what caused this whole disaster. The solution has to be a different path.





	Surrexit

**Author's Note:**

> Surrexit: He is Risen.
> 
> Happy Easter?

His father's sword pierces his chest and the pain finally stops.

The Beyond is a strange, weightless space of swirling color, like the inside of the Crystal but unbounded, stretching on without limits. It feels like nothing, but a positive nothing, a place of things-could-be rather than things-are-not.

Ardyn is there, as promised. Ardyn, who destroyed so many lives. Ardyn, who engineered the whole ugly chain of events that led to this. Ardyn, who once tried to save his people and paid horribly for failing. Ardyn, whose role was thrust on him so long ago that Noctis can barely fathom it.

The kings of Lucis phase into existence at Noctis' back: not really present, not really _aware_ , only the memory of purpose given spectral form. They're waiting for the order to attack, to destroy the soul of the Accursed and finish out the last act of the epic that's been going on for the entirety of Lucis' existence. The thing Noctis was chosen for. Sacrificed for.

He raises his hand, the Ring of the Lucii pulsing hot against his skin. Ardyn braces for an attack, not preparing to defend himself but getting ready to take a blow. He looks resigned. 

Instead of ordering the king-spirits forward, Noctis calls them to him, drawing all their power into the ring so it's his to command. Power beyond even that of the gods. Power to shape the future of the world. 

He walks toward Ardyn. There is no space here and moving doesn't work the way it's supposed to, but he is the True King and he holds all the power of his line, and he walks.

"Doing it with your own hands?" Ardyn asks. He's smirking but his eyes are so very tired. "Admirable."

"Wouldn't trust just anyone to do this right," Noctis says. He's inside striking distance, then inside arm's reach, and Ardyn is still waiting, not defending himself. Noctis reaches out—

And pulls him into an embrace as he draws the Light up from the core of his being. Ardyn tenses in his arms, begins to protest, and the light swells around them both. Noctis focuses it, pushes it through Ardyn's body, demanding that it do what the gods could not: destroy the Scourge.

Not the man.

As the light fades away, Ardyn is trembling faintly against him. His hands come to rest slowly on Noctis' shoulders, and they feel warm. "My boy," he says, soft and wondering and sweet.

Noctis pulls back but doesn't entirely let go. Violence and rejection are what caused this whole disaster. The solution has to be a different path. "Come on," he says. "Let's go home."

*

The three of them are having breakfast, talking over what to do with the day—there are actual days again, a blessing that Gladio's painfully grateful for no matter how much he hates the cost—when Gladio's phone buzzes with a text. He digs it out of his pocket; maybe it's a Hunter with a contract, maybe it's Iris with an update. When he sees the name on the display he nearly drops it.

"Shit," Prompto says, "bad news?"

"Bad taste," Gladio says hoarsely.

The message is supposedly from Noct. _on the way home. can somebody pick me up at galdin quay?_

Gladio's hands shake as he types an answer. _how the FUCK do you have that phone. I will DESTROY you for this._

"Worth sharing?" Iggy asks, carefully corralling scrambled eggs onto his fork.

"Some asshole texting me from Noct's phone," Gladio says. Iggy winces, putting his fork down, and Prompto puts a hand on his shoulder. They're all taking it hard, getting Noct back just long enough to remember how much they cared about him and then losing him again, but Iggy might be suffering the most.

"If it weren't," Iggy starts, and then stops, shaking his head. "No, forgive me. That's not a thought we should be entertaining." His voice cracks. "We need to look to the future, not the past."

Prompto flinches, the way he still does every time Iggy says something about looking or seeing. Gladio pokes listlessly at his food, his appetite suddenly vanished.

His phone buzzes again.

_Oh dear, that wouldn't do for a homecoming at all. His majesty is busy piloting this atrocious tub he calls a boat, but he'd like to reassure you that this message is legitimate and he looks forward to seeing you all._

"More details?" Iggy asks anxiously.

"More bullshit," Gladio says. "From someone who sounds like Ardyn."

His reply this time is shorter: _HOW._

He puts the phone on the diner table, glaring at it. Prompto pulls it over to look at the messages, making a face as he reads them. "That does sound like him." He scrolls back. "I mean, it sounds like Noct, too. Whoever this is, they..." 

Another message. Prompto reads it out loud. _Your king is a very stubborn man, you know! I don't think even the gods expected him to end matters this way. I certainly didn't._

Iggy makes a noise like he's just been kicked in the heart. Gladio clenches his fists, breathing through it until he gets the urge to punch something under control. Bad enough to screw with him, but to hurt Iggy, who sacrificed so much for Noct and steadfastly insists at every turn that it was worth it—

"I really want it to be true," Prompto says miserably.

"Ask him something," Iggy says. "Some petty, silly thing that he would know but an impostor would not."

Prompto thinks about it for a second and then types rapidly. All three of them wait for the answer to come back. The minutes tick by excruciatingly slowly.

Finally, a buzz. "Fuck," Prompto says.

Gladio takes his phone back.

_why did you grow onions at cape caem_

_He says they were carrots, which are disgusting, and that he traded them to some enterprising chef to acquire a new handgun for Prompto._

_Frankly that sounds like implausible nonsense to me and I wouldn't blame you for being skeptical._

"It's the right answer," Gladio says. He can't even look at Iggy right now.

_don't touch him. I seriously will tear you apart_ , he sends.

The response is much prompter that time. _I know, dear. You've always been loyal._

"Someone should go check," Gladio says. He still doesn't dare believe it but his heart aches and he _wants_ it to be true.

"I'm on it," Prompto says. He hops up out of the booth like someone's lit a fire under him.

"You're stocked up on ammo?" Gladio asks.

Prompto winces, but he nods. "Ready for anything." He looks from Gladio to Ignis and back again. "I'll let you know as soon as I know what's up."

"Thank you," Ignis says quietly. "And good luck."

*

"You know there's nothing to stop me from causing trouble again, if you just let me go," Ardyn says, standing on the deck and watching—not helping—as Noctis ties up the boat.

"I know. But you don't have to do it, either." Noctis gets the line secure and straightens up. "Without the Scourge you're just a man. The same way I am. I thought... I _think_ you should have some time free of it, so you can live a normal life a little. Get to be something other than a destiny."

Ardyn is just barely smiling, in the unsettling way where it looks like he might cry. "You were never supposed to be so merciful."

"Bahamut's probably saying the same thing," Noctis points out.

There, that makes Ardyn snort and shake his head. "First thing we've agreed on in millennia."

They walk up the dock, boots drumming on the wood. In the morning light it's easier to see just how much the quay got hammered by the years of darkness—but it's also possible to see where rebuilding could start, now that the dawn has come.

"Where will you go?" Noctis asks.

"Now, really." Ardyn is looking up at the blue sky, the scattered clouds. "If I knew, would I tell you?"

"No," Noctis says, and somehow that's satisfying.

"What about you?" Ardyn asks.

"I—well, it's obvious, isn't it?" Noctis is surprised he would ask. "I'm going to rebuild. It'll be a lot of work, but I have to try."

"You'll do well," Ardyn says, as if he's sure of it. "Do you know, there was a truism many years ago, before the line of Lucis was known for its warriors. _The hands of the king are the hands of a healer_." He steps off the boardwalk onto the sand. "Maybe in your reign people will say it again."

*

Prompto's bike roars down the highway toward Galdin, and no matter how fast he pushes the engine it doesn't go as fast as his heart. Noct is back. For real, for keeps, the way the story was supposed to go. Prompto never liked stories where they kill the hero in the end. What a garbage way to reward a guy for saving the world, right?

He snakes down the long hill that leads to the coast, and already he can see a figure standing on the dock, wearing black, looking out into the bright blue water. Man, it's good to see that color again. All the colors, really. But especially that bright ocean blue, the color of the water the first day they got to Galdin, way back when everything was still okay. The color of the sky distilled and concentrated into a jewel.

He parks the bike beside the long-empty gas pumps and hops off. The figure on the dock hasn't turned around, focused on the water, intent and still, like—

"You son of a bitch!" Prompto yells as he jogs across the parking lot. "Are you _fishing_?"

The rod flickers out of Noct's hands as he turns around. "I had to pass the time somehow," he says, and his sheepish smile looks a little weird when Prompto hasn't had time to get used to his face being older and scruffy but it's _him_.

Prompto does the only sensible thing: he launches himself at Noct for the most vital hug of his life. Noct laughs like he's just had the wind knocked out of him and hugs back, his arms wiry and super strong, and it's great.

But he pulls back because he's pretty sure Iggy and Gladio would both yell at him if he didn't have the sense to ask. "Where's the jerk?"

"Already gone," Noct says. "Don't think he wanted to stick around and take the risk that one of you would show up to punch him." He eyes the holster at Prompto's hip. "Or worse."

"Well, he does have a point," Prompto says. "You're the real thing, though. Right?"

Noct looks him in the eye. "In high school chemistry lab we accidentally set Rubeo Fulgur's coat on fire and you tried to take all the blame for it."

"It was my fault!" Prompto insists.

"It was both of our fault," Noct says, just like he did then. " _And_ he was a creep."

Prompto blinks really hard a few times because the sea breeze must have gotten something in his eyes. "Either my entire life is a lie or you're real, and I've always been an optimist."

Noct hugs him again, which doesn't help with the something-in-his-eyes problem but it's not like he minds. He has a ten-year deficit of Noct hugs to make up, after all.

He keeps one arm around Noct when the hug ends, digging his phone out with the other. "Smile for the camera, okay?"

"Seriously?" Noct complains, but not like he means it. And he is smiling in the pic Prompto takes, a little shyer than Prompto's own huge grin but totally genuine. 

Prompto sends the pic to Gladio. _were on the way home!!!_

Then he gives Noct another smile that feels like it's going to split his face right in half. "Ready to go home?"

"Am I ever," Noct says. "Let's go."

*

In a kitchen whose layout and contents he knows, Ignis can still cook. He does it less often than he used to, between the scarcity of ingredients and the rarity of having the group of them together, but in the wake of today's news a celebratory meal seems like a necessity. The things that come to mind—after all these years—are mostly out of reach, the rice bowls topped with sauteed chickatrice and silky half-poached egg, the fresh bread wrapped around thick slices of grilled garula. But fish have been easier to acquire than some of the other once-staple ingredients of his kitchen, and once he has word that Prompto is on the way back he sets about preparing a simple "grilled" barramundi rubbed with turmeric.

He's sliding the last piece off the pan and onto a plate when the bell above the door chimes. He sets the pan down and turns toward the sound.

"Holy shit," Gladio says, gruff, unwillingly impressed.

"Yeah, hi." It's Noct's voice. Ignis' throat feels like it's locking up; he wants to take a step toward the sound and can't bring himself to move.

Gladio moves, his steps always the heaviest. "Come here." Shifting, movement sounds.

Noct grunts. "Gah, that was my spine."

"Still is," Gladio says, his voice thick with emotion. "You're fine."

"Better than fine," Noct says.

Gladio laughs, cloth shifting as he lets go. Noct's first few steps are too quick, like he's been pushed, but he recovers quickly, coming closer.

"Ignis," Noct says gently. In front of him, close, likely in arm's reach. "I'm home."

"Welcome back," Ignis answers, as if Noct has returned from a day at school rather than a world-saving trip to the afterlife. 

Noct claps one hand on his shoulder and squeezes, warm. Ignis opens his arms, an offer or maybe a plea, and Noct fits himself easily into that space, arms around Ignis' waist and head on his shoulder. "I'm done," he says. "I won't leave you behind again."

Ignis nods stiffly, burying his face in the softness of Noct's hair. He doesn't trust his voice right now. 

For a long moment they stay right there, arms around each other, as the ache slowly unknots in Ignis' chest. Noct feels so familiar in his arms, wiry but solid, leaning into him like there's no place he'd rather be. Slowly, Ignis lets his hands explore: the too-prominent shapes of spine and shoulderblade, just as they've always been; the tight bands of muscle across his shoulders, born of equal parts stress and swordplay; the prickling roughness of a beard along his jawline, unfamiliar but, Ignis assumes, distinguished as his father's was.

Eventually Noct takes a deep breath, the kind that prefaces a difficult question. "I know it's a lot to ask, when you've done so much for me already," he says. He doesn't let go. "But I want to restore Lucis, and I can't do that alone. Will you help me?"

Ignis holds him tight. "I have always belonged at your side," he says. The nightmare is over. Dawn has come at last. "I would like nothing more."

**Author's Note:**

> "The hands of the king are the hands of a healer" is of course a line from Lord of the Rings, and I'm pretty sure Tolkien was referencing existing medieval folklore when he put that detail in.
> 
> The "I'm home"/"Welcome back" exchange in the last scene would absolutely have been "tadaima"/"okaeri" if this were in Japanese, because when there's emotion behind that it destroys my heart.


End file.
